


I've Got Diamonds In My Pocket and Stars In My Sight

by John_lzhc



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Awesome Ladies Ficathon, Character Development, Character Study, Gen, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2011-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_lzhc/pseuds/John_lzhc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daddy likes diamonds better than safety standards, better than workers rights and other people's lives. Better than River.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got Diamonds In My Pocket and Stars In My Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Dyslexic Disclaimer: There is a good chance the following work contains spelling errors and typos. I'm aware of this, and I'm working on it. Most stuff is proofread, but sometimes errors will slip through. If you could either A: _politely point out spelling mistakes and appropriate corrections (British English please)_ , or B: _ignore them_ , that would be very helpful.
> 
> For the prompt 'River Song, Diamonds' on the Awesome Ladies Ficathon meme

“See these, darling?” Daddy whispers, pushing warm shards of ice into Little River's hands. “Don't you think they're pretty?”

“What are they?” River whispers back from Daddy's knee. She doesn't know why they're whispering, but Daddy did it first, and anything Daddy does River wants to do too.

“Diamonds, sweetheart. Do you like them?”

She does. Loves them with all her heart, sitting in her palm like twists of precious light, a little scattering of heaven. With a laugh, River casts them out, throws them out over the dark carpet of Daddy's office, lets them spill across the floor. Daddy's arms go tight and hard.

“Look, Daddy! Stars!” She twists up, beaming. Daddy's arms go slack and warm again, smiling back at his little girl.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Diamonds are precious, Daddy teller her. Diamonds are power. Diamonds will make an infraction circuit board run on next-to-zero power, will make a good man kill, will make a laser to rival the sun, will make the soulless fall in love. Diamonds, Diamonds, Diamonds. Daddy always talks about Diamonds.

River thinks they must be Daddy's favourite thing in the world, glittery and perfect and _power_. She can be that for him, she thinks, can be his flawless little girl.

She studies hard in class, drinks molecular science and business accounting in like priceless wines her elocution tutors teach her to appreciate, goes to parties smiling and eloquent and shining like a little angel. Becomes the consummate business heir. Nods and accepts when he tells her to stop asking about mummy, mummy doesn't matter any more.

Daddy gives her a star mobile when she's nine. Eleven faultless Arcadian diamonds cut into stars the size of her fist. She's never been so proud in all her life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“So what do you think, darling?” Daddy stretches an arm, presents her with the great expanse of the brand new diamond mine.

“Incredible.” She tells him, smiles for the onlookers. “Can I see the drills?”

Daddy laughs, always laughs at her growing fascination with technology and mechanics. River likes to make Daddy laugh, the way she likes things with big engines and lots of buttons and the strength to break through the skin of a planet, likes having that sway over things great and strong.

“Of cause you can, sweetheart. Do you remember what type they-”

“Swansong Fillio mark seven modified for precision cutting.” Daddy laughs again. She's showing off, shining. Trying to shine brighter than Daddy's new toys. “How long until they're online?”

“Oh they're online now, darling. We're testing tomorrow.” Daddy says, proud of his work, just a little smug at outwitting his little River.

But... that's not right. Tomorrow’s too soon. She's been following the mines progress, her own little project to know everything about it, and see knows they're not ready.

“What about installing the core shielding? I though you'd decided electro-protective personnel gear was too expensive to-”

“That's all been taken care of!” Daddy shouts, and _that_ feels like ice down the back. Daddy shouldn't shout at River, shouldn't look at her like she's a problem, like she's saying something wrong.

But he does, and it _hurts_.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

River thinks diamonds must be Daddy's favourite thing in the world, but she is fifteen before she realises what that means. Daddy likes diamonds better than safety standards, better than workers rights, better than other people's lives.

Better than her.

It sits in Rivers chest, heavy and sharp as the diamond starts in her room, that Daddy is a Bad Man. Her Father is a Bad Man. Sits there silent and repressed, until the second worker dies from core burns.

River tells Father to put core shielding in. He laughs at her, but this time she doesn't like it, can't stand it. She threatens him with the press, and he locks her in her room until he's bought out controlling shares in the top three media outlets in the system.

'It's business' Father tells River. 'I thought you understood business'. River doesn't understand anything any more, doesn't think she ever can again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“River! You come back here young lady!” River can hear Father's anger rattle around the halls, slam against marble walls. It stings her, but she won't answer. Won't go back. Not this time.

“River!” Doesn't matter, he'll come after her. Always does, for every petty fight.

She slams through her bedroom door, hears Father crash into the corridor behind her, slaps her hand against the lock-pad. It seals tight.

“If you don't open this door right now, you're grounded.” Father bellows.

“You can't ground me!” she shouts right back, rage screaming behind her eyes. “I'm of age. That's kidnapping!”

“I'm the richest diamond merchant on Arcadia, you think anyone will stop me?”

River leans back against the door, head falling back, stares at the star mobile, and says nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Father won't let her out until she apologises. He hasn't said it, needn’t say it, that's just how it always is. He's cut communication and blocked comm signals and deadlocked the frosted windows. She tells herself she'll be fine until she runs out of story books.

The first night she falls asleep with loneliness and stinging eyes, looking up at the stars.

The second night she paces back and forth until the sun rises.

The third nigh she sleeps in a corner, blankets gathered round like a nest.

The fourth night she convinces herself it is the third night, then the fifth night. She starts to think she's losing her mind.

The fifth night she remembers half a bottle of whiskey hidden behind her headboard, and drinks in neat from the bottle until her fingers shake and her eyes cloud and she doesn't remember how she fell asleep.

The sixth nigh she sleeps like the dead.

The seventh night she swears to herself she's getting the hell out of here.

The eighth night she realises she as no idea how, and cries herself to sleep for the second time since she locked the door.

The ninth night, her window explodes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

River wakes choking on hot dust, ears ringing with the blast that woke her, eyes stinging with the flash. The room's full of fog – dust and ash – and she didn't think masonry could burn but _oh_. Most of the window frame, most of the surrounding brickwork, peppers the room and the edges of what's left smoulder in the dark. River wonders, through spark spangled confusion, if one of the militant miners' rights groups has progressed to hostage-taking, and weather that would be better or worse than where she is now.

Then the bed catches fire and she's just out, out of this room out of this _life_ , throwing off covers and hurtling to the window, desperate, desperate. It's a second story room, but there's a balcony, and trees, and hands steadying her when she falls the last ten feet.

“Are you alright?” That doesn’t sound like kidnapping, like _honest_ kidnapping. “River, are you alright?”

A light then – a torch – and River pulls back to look at the man who-

No, woman. Tall, imposing woman in combat fatigues and perfect hair, every curl falling like River's own. Mature, but beautiful.

“I'm alright” she whispers, thinking _why, why did I stop asking_ but far too scared to say anything else.

“Come with me.”

It doesn't occur to her to refuse.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

River, no longer little, no longer the daughter of a wealthy diamond merchant, curls in on herself, pressing back into the chair of a grimy, down-market, cut-price passenger liner going anywhere but Arcadia.

The woman with hair like hers had driven her to the shuttle port, didn't talk, didn't spare her more than a glance, and left her standing with a pre-paid ticket in the name of River Song, and a kiss on the cheek. Well, better onwards than back, River told herself.

The ship engines lurch, great and strong things she holds no sway over, but if they take her on, take her up, she'll bear them no resentment. Outside the sky passes away into dark, and River presses her hand to the window, presses against the stars.

She doesn't know where she's going, or why, or what she'll do when she gets there, but she has her handful of diamonds, her little scattering of heaven. She'll be fine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


End file.
